


Where Have You Been?

by RedCoatsRedder



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: George Washington is a Dad, James Hamilton Sr is an Asshole, Minor Original Character(s), Minor Violence, Mostly Fluff, Other, Said Minor Original Character is an Asshole, Some angst, Thomas Jefferson is a bit of a jerk, Washingdad, fluff fluff fluffy fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-24
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-27 11:27:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14424444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedCoatsRedder/pseuds/RedCoatsRedder
Summary: What would happen if Alexander Hamilton's father showed up on his doorstep one night? How would he react? How would George Washington react? Well, here's my opinion.





	1. A Letter Arrives

Alexander Hamilton was walking home from work. It had been a very long day, and usually he’d take a carriage but he and Jefferson had been arguing non-stop all day, so he decided to burn off some steam. Underneath his eyes, there were dark purple bags, and his hair was a bit ragged, but then again he hadn’t slept in almost three days, so all of this was to be expected. 

Lost in thought, he barely noticed that he’d arrived at home and climbed absentmindedly up the stairs and opened the door. A blaze of light and sound greeted him when he walked inside. Blinking his eyes a few times, he smiled back at his eldest son and daughter, Philip and Angelica, who were descending the stairs. Still in a rather dazed state, he proceeded further into the house, looking for Eliza.

She was standing in the parlour, holding a letter in her hand and looking confused and worried. She smiled in a somewhat distracted manner when she saw him. “Eliza, who is the letter from?” Alexander inquired. The letter was stained with water, splotches of ink, and what might have been some sort of oil. Altogether it looked like the sender hadn’t minded the state of his paper or just didn’t think they’d care. Eliza pursed her lips for a moment, before replying, “It’s probably nothing, probably just a joke someone decided to play, but, well….”

Unable to say any more, she held out the letter to him. It was a very short letter, evidently the person did not have much to say. He took it and held it to the nearby candle. It read:

My son, it has been far too long. I got word you were living in New York City in the newly independent American colonies. I have recently come to the port in Boston and am travelling up to New York, and I would like to call upon you when I arrive. I am afraid I cannot give you the exact date I will arrive, but I will be sure to see you before the month is up. 

Respectfully yours, your father,   
James A. Hamilton 

 

The letter fell out of Alexander’s shaking hands. It couldn’t be-could it? His father was likely dead, and even if he was still alive, he had no reason to come visit. He’d left him, his mother, and James alone, without any support and showing no sign that he cared about them in the least. No. Eliza was right, it was just a joke, a prank meant to poke fun at him and his family. He picked up the letter, and abruptly turned towards the fireplace, dropping the piece of paper on top of the already blazing logs. Exited the room, he was determined to put the offending letter out of his mind. He almost succeeded.   
Alexander rose early as always the next day, making a cup of coffee and bidding goodbye to Eliza, then stepping outside to see if he could hail a carriage. 

Arriving at his offices, he got to work almost immediately.

The day was much the same as any other, passing by in a blur of paper, ink, and quills. He wrote, argued with Jefferson and Madison, spoke briefly with President Washington, and wrote some more, not leaving his desk until darkness fell. All thoughts of the letter had disappeared from his mind. 

On this night he actually did manage to catch a ride to his home, as it was quite late and he really was tired. Ascending the stairs, he paused for a moment before opening the door.

It appeared that an argument of some sort was taking place inside. One voice was distinctly Eliza’s, while the other one was male, but it was not the voice of one of his sons, or anyone he recognized, for that matter. 

He opened the door somewhat cautiously, not sure if he would be prepared for what he might see when he entered the house. He was absolutely right. 

Eliza was standing in the foyer, arguing with a man whose back was turned to him. The man was not much taller than himself, and had unkempt dark hair that hung loose around his shoulders. He had evidently been travelling for some time, as his clothing was careworn and frayed in places. He had deeply tanned skin, likely he had spent long periods of time out in the sun. Even though his face was concealed, the man had a familiar air about him, something in the way he carried himself reminded Alexander of someone. 

Finally noticing his entry, Eliza paused for a moment, looked at Alexander, then glanced back at the man. After a moment’s silence, she spoke.

“Alexander, you remember the letter we received? Well, apparently it wasn’t a joke.” 

The man turned around, and grinned back at Alex. 

“It is good to see you again, son. It’s me, your father.”


	2. An Unwanted Visitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Reactions.

What are you supposed to do when your father, who abandoned you, your mother, and brother when you were a child, shows up on your doorstep, and says, “It’s good to see you again.” What do you say to him? How do you act? 

Well, if you’re Alexander Hamilton, you turn around and walk right back out the front door. He just couldn’t think of any reason why his father would show up out of the blue, and why now? Why not after his mother died, or when his cousin committed suicide, or when the hurricane struck? What could he possibly want? Money? Blackmail? 

Alexander ponders the matter as he walks down the dark street. 

Yes, that must be it. There is just no other reason he can think of. 

He is pulled out of his thoughts with a hand on his shoulder. Eliza is looking back at him with a worried expression. “Come back inside, we’ll talk it over. We should at least find out what he’s here for.” 

Even though Alexander really doesn’t want to, he follows his wife back to their house. His father is still waiting in the foyer with a smirk on his face. 

Eliza leads both men into the parlour, and closes the door, saying, “I’ll just leave you two to...talk.” She shoots Alexander a worried look. 

The silence in the small room is overwhelming. James Hamilton reclines in an armchair, looking pleased, while his son glares back at him with enough anger and resentment to burn through stone. 

Eventually the former of the two breaks the silence. 

“So, I saw in the papers that you’re Washington’s Secretary of the Treasury. Congratulations, son. I see you’ve risen far from where you started, and quite frankly I never expected you to get off that island, much less become a part of a government.” 

Alexander’s glare intensifies, and he snarls back, “Don’t call me that!” 

James’s smile only grows wider. “Call you what, son?”

“That. I’m not your son, not anymore. You left us to die, I never wanted to see you again, now you’re in my house, acting like you’ve done no wrong, I do not need you, I have no reason or desire to see you ever again, so GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” 

His voice had grown louder and louder until he finally shouted the last words, on his feet, glaring at the man in front of him. 

James merely tsks back at him. “Even after all this time, you still haven’t learned to control your temper and your voice. I had hoped that someone would have taught you a bit of restraint, but apparently that’s still too much to ask for.” 

Alexander falls back heavily into the armchair behind him, and slumps down a little. His expression has not softened in the slightest. 

“So, what do you want? Is it money, or blackmail, or something else entirely?” 

James puts on a look of mock disappointment. “Can’t I just come to say hello? Catch up on how you’ve been doing, for old time’s sake?” 

“No”, Alexander spat back. “Now tell me whatever it is that you want and leave.” 

The man simply gazes back at him, replying, “Unfortunately for you, then, what I want is to spend some time here with you and your family in New York City.” 

Alexander looks at James in dismay. “I….” he sighs. “Do you at least have an inn to stay in?” 

His father responds with a Cheshire grin. “Of course. Wouldn’t want you to go through too much trouble, now would I?” 

Glowering at the floorboards, Alexander mutters “Knowing you, of course you would.” 

James’s light hearted expression hardens. “What was that, Alex?”

Forcing a fake smile onto his face, Alexander tells him, “Nothing, nothing at all. Allow me to show you out.” 

After the unwanted visitor had finally left, Eliza approached her husband. 

“Are you alright, Alexander, you look a bit shaken up.” 

“No, how could I be, my father, who I haven’t seen in decades, shows up on the doorstep, says he’d like to catch up, and tells me that he’s going to be spending some time with us. Why does he care? He’s got no right to visit!” 

Eliza responded, “I know this must be hard, but perhaps you should give him a chance. Maybe he really does want to make up for the past.” 

Alexander scoffed. “You don’t know him like I do, Eliza. The man feels no guilt, and he’s only looking to benefit himself. Whatever it is, I only hope that he does not hurt us.” 

She smiled sadly, and put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Let’s go to sleep for now, we can always deal with this problem in the morning. If worst comes to worst we can always get the law involved.” 

The sun peeked over the window frame the next morning and cast a frail beam of light into the bedroom. Someone was knocking on the door repeatedly. Alexander rose with a yawn and rubbed his eyes. It was not even time to get up for work yet, who could be visiting at this hour? 

The answer was revealed to him the minute he opened the door. James Hamilton stood before him in all of his glory. He grinned back at the still sleepy man in the doorway. “Morning, Alex, I thought I could accompany you to work today, maybe meet some of your coworkers, or friends. What do you think?” 

Apparently Alexander thought it was a bad idea, because he slammed the door and turned to go back upstairs. James was not to be deterred, however. He simply opened the door and followed his son, grabbing his shoulder. 

Alexander shrugged his hand away, glared, and growled, “Shove off.” 

Eliza was sitting up, running a hand over her hair. Seeing him, she asked, “Who’s here?” 

“Guess who.” he responded, digging through the closet, looking for a cravat. 

She gazed at him sympathetically. “Your father?”

“Yes, who else? And he wants to come to work with me today. Something about meeting my coworkers and friends. Like I could ever allow this to happen!” 

He gave a sharp tug to the cloth, tying and adjusting it. “I’m going to see if I can’t get him out of the house, and maybe I can lose him on the way to work.” 

Exiting the room, he descended the stairs and saw James leaning against the wall with a rather cocky air. “Ready to leave?” Alexander nodded shortly. “Good. Let’s go, I assume you’re walking, I didn’t see any horses or a coach.” Another nod. 

James opened the door and slung an arm around Alex’s shoulder. Try as he might, the older man would not move the arm, so he pushed forward and walked out into the busy street. 

The walk to his office was only about fifteen minutes, but it seemed to drag out into an eternity. James Hamilton kept trying to find topics for conversation, the people, the buildings, current new. Alexander answered all of his questions with brief sentences, head nods, or just slight noises. It was evident that he was not at all thrilled at the prospect of introducing his long lost father to his coworkers.

After what seemed to be many long years, the pair arrived at the building where Alexander worked. And of course, who should be there but the one and only Thomas Jefferson. 

“Hey, Hamilton, who’s this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it. Jefferson and Washington in the next chapter.


	3. You Weren't Asked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Small bit of violence. Very small.

Thomas Jefferson was standing on the top of the steps, grinning down at Alexander and James. “Hey, Hamilton, who’s this?” he questioned. 

James didn’t hesitate. “Nice to meet you, I’m Alex’s father, James Hamilton.” 

Jefferson’s eyes widened slightly and a small smile spread across his face as he shook James’s hand. “Nice to meet you as well, I’m Thomas Jefferson.”

“Secretary of State?”

“The one and only.” 

“It’s an honor, sir.” 

“I could say the same.” 

During this exchange, Alexander had slipped past the other two men and was now walking down the hall, on his way to his office. He reasoned that his father would probably leave, as he had no clue where his office was and Alexander wasn’t about to tell him. Jefferson or someone else might….hopefully not though.   
Arriving at his office, he let out a small sigh of relief when he saw that no one had followed him. Sitting down, he pulled out his quill and papers and began to work.   
His victory was short lived, though, as not more than ten minutes later James came bursting through the door, still chatting amiably with Jefferson. 

….anyway, Mr. Hamilton, here’s your son’s office, have a nice day, I’m sure Alexander will be willing to help you out if you have any problems.” 

Thomas grinned back at Alex, who shot an annoyed look in his way that said all too plainly, “Why’d you have to bring him here?” 

As soon as Jefferson closed the door, the smile James had been wearing slid off his face, replaced by a look of fury and annoyance. He stalked over to Alexander’s desk and slammed his hands down on the desktop, causing several pages to drift down to the floor. 

He glowered down at his son, and Alexander’s eyes raised up to calmly meet his. James snarled, “Now, why did you leave me out on the steps? Are you trying to get me angry at you? If it wasn’t for Mr. Jefferson, I would have been left to wander the place like a fool until I found this room!” 

Alexander gazed back up at him, replying in a somewhat bored manner, “Please pick those papers up off the floor, I’d like to continue working if you don’t mind. And stop acting so childish, I did not invite you to come with me, you showed up on my doorstep. I would have been perfectly content with never seeing you again.” 

James let out a guttural growl and grabbed Alex by his cravat, dragging him to his feet and slamming his body into the wall. “Now, you listen to me. You may have been on your own for a long time, and maybe you’ve gotten used to only taking orders from yourself, but when I ask for respect you show me respect, or did you forget that?”

He hasn’t forgotten. This moment is painfully like that memory. 

Alexander is huddled against the wall. He can hear his parents arguing in the other room. Shouting, cursing, and the sound of breaking glass mix in with the noise from the storm outside. The only light is coming from the flashes of lightning coming in through the windows, and he prays it will be enough to hide him. 

No such luck this time. 

The door bursts open and hits the opposite wall with a bang. James is standing in the doorway, looking quite menacing, and the sudden burst of lightning isn’t helping at all. 

He gazes around in a drunken manner, until he finally notices the small form in the corner, trying desperately to make himself invisible. 

Alexander squirms as his father approaches him. He wonders frantically if his older brother, James Jr., is around. But no, he fell asleep hours ago, before the argument started.   
Grabbing his son’s hair, James yanks Alex’s head closer to his. His breath reeks of alcohol. 

“You little good-for-nothing bastard, what are you still doing here? Can’t you find even one way to make yourself useful, or are you too worthless even for that?” 

Attempting to push himself away, Alexander writhes back and forth. His father’s grip does not loosen. He is trapped. 

James notices his struggles, and slams his head back against the wall. “You pay attention when I’m talking to you, do you understand?” he snaps. 

Alexander whimpers in pain, nodding his head as best he can with someone holding onto his hair. 

“Good.” 

As he turns to go, something inside of Alexander suddenly screams at him to STRIKE BACK, to defend himself. He kicks out a leg and catches his father on the ankle. 

James is livid. He crouches next to his son and slaps him across the face, hard. “You pathetic little bastard, you show me some respect, and you’d best not forget that, lest I have to remind you.” 

Alexander shrinks back towards the wall, all earlier traces of defiance gone. He opens his mouth, closes it, and settles for simply nodding his head, thinking that words might provoke James further. 

His father rises to his feet, looking down at Alex, who has now curled into an even smaller ball, and is rocking back and forth, attempting to calm himself down. James chuckles softly, and bends over slightly to look Alexander in the eyes. 

“My God, you really are pathetic.” He kicks Alex once in the chest, leaving him doubled over, coughing, and walks out the door, laughing his head off drunkenly. 

Pulled out of the memory by the hand on his cravat yanking his neck forward, he glances back at James, who shakes him slightly and snarls “Well?” 

Slipping away from the older man’s grasp, Alexander mutters, “No, I haven't forgotten, sir.”   
James glares as Alexander walks back to his desk, picks the papers up off the floor and sits down to start working again. 

A few hours pass in tense, uncomfortable silence. The clock ticks away, counting off time, counting down until the next explosion, waiting until one of them will say something that will spur the other’s anger. 

Around noon, James pipes up, “You know, I’d like to meet Washington. Talk to him, express concerns, you know.”

Alexander snorts. “Concerns about what? Surely nothing you have to complain about can be worthy of the President of the United States?” 

The other man smiles back in a rather cynical manner. “Oh, I’m certain that he’ll be interested in what I have to say.” 

More silence follows this ominous proclamation. Alexander is mulling over the matter in his head. There is a small chance that Washington will even be able or want to speak with James, but even so, it’s a risk he’d rather not take. He doesn’t want his father to say anything that might ruin his career, but honestly, how many people would trust him? Well, maybe a couple of people, hoping to find something to use against him, but still. 

After much deliberation, he makes a decision. “Fine. Come with me, I have to give him these reports anyways”. That is true, but he’s hoping that it will give him a reason to stay in or near the President’s office and hopefully keep his father from saying anything against him. 

Alexander leads the way to Washington’s office, a stack of papers in his arms. Thankfully, they encounter no one on the way, sparing him from having to explain to any more of his colleagues about his long lost relative and the story behind it. 

He knocks twice on the office door. A deep voice calls out from behind the wood, “Come in.” 

Ok so this part of the story is going to be written from Washington’s perspective. 

“Come in”, he called out in response to the knock on his office door. It was probably Hamilton, he’d asked the Secretary of the Treasury to write a couple of reports for him, and at the speed he wrote he was likely finished by now. 

Hamilton entered his office, bearing said reports in his arms, and, strangely enough, accompanied by another man whom he had never seen before. The newcomer looked like an older version of Alexander, but wasn’t he an orphan? 

The answer was revealed to him as the newcomer addressed him. “President Washington? It’s nice to meet you, sir, I’m James Hamilton, Alexander’s father.”


	4. Conversations and Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the cliffhanger in the last chapter.

This is still from Washington’s point of view. 

Washington was shocked into silence. Alexander’s father?! But he’d always thought the boy was an orphan! Apparently he wasn’t. Despite himself, he realized he felt oddly angry towards the man, even though he’d only just met him. But he couldn’t stop himself from feeling that this man should have done more for Alexander, because the poor boy was always so unwilling to talk about his past, presumably because of bad experiences. Washington had always known that Alex’s mother had died when he was younger, and that his father had left, but he assumed that both of his parents were now dead. 

He noticed he was making a bit of a strange expression as he tried to keep his emotions in check, and quickly rearranged his features into a more neutral look. 

“Pleasure to meet you. I can’t say that I’ve heard very much about you. Alexander never told me about any family members of his.” 

Was it just his imagination or did the man just shoot Alex a bit of an angry look? No, it can’t be, because Hamilton remains stoney faced and continues to listen to Washington, not paying one bit of attention to his father. 

So he addresses his so- his secretary. “I see you are finished with those reports. Good work, Hamilton. If I might request one more thing?” 

Alexander quickly responds, “Of course, sir, whatever you need.” 

James Hamilton suddenly cuts in, “Actually, sir, if you don’t mind I would like to speak with you for a moment. In private.” 

He places extra emphasis on the last word, and Washington definitely sees him shoot a glare at Alexander. Clearly whatever bad blood they had between them still hasn’t been resolved. 

However, he thinks he should humor the man, hear him out and then he can hopefully get rid of him so work can continue as usual. 

Addressing James Hamilton, he replies, “Very well. I can spare a few moments.” He doesn’t miss the crestfallen expression on Alex’s face. 

Turning to the boy, he tells him, “Hamilton, I will speak with you further tomorrow. Dismissed.” 

Alexander salutes him and walks out the door, leaving Washington alone with James Hamilton. 

“So, what can I do for you? Is this a political matter or a more personal one?” 

James quickly responds, “Oh, it’s more of a personal one, sir. I’d actually like to talk to you about Alexander. I feel there are some things about him that you ought to know, and well, he clearly hasn’t told you himself, so I’d thought I’d take matters into my own hands.” 

Washington leaned forward slightly and frowned. “I cannot think of anything else that I would need to know. He is hardworking and loyal, even if he does occasionally run his mouth.” 

He inwardly laughed. Saying Alexander ran his mouth off occasionally was like saying that the sun only rose every other day. Some may have found it obnoxious but Washington preferred to think of it as endearing. 

James pressed his fingertips together. “Sir, this isn’t about my son’s work ethic. I am sure that he is quite loyal, but Alex has always been a bit of a…..free spirit, if you will. He’s nearly impossible to control, especially if you’re not willing to use a bit of force.” 

Washington sat in stunned silence. Force? Did this man mean for him to use the threat of physical violence towards Alexander? 

His brow furrows. “If you are implying that I should harm Alexander in an effort to subdue him, you are dearly mistaken. He has not, and I doubt he ever will, done anything remotely close to deserving such a punishment.” 

The other man sighs and says, “He was a good deal better behaved when he was younger as opposed to now. In my humble opinion, discipline is a particularly important lesson, sir, and I think it is one that you’d benefit greatly from if it were to be exercised on Alexander.” 

If he stays and listens to this man say such things about Alexander, Washington thinks he just might do something to this man to encourage him to get out of this building and away from his so- no, his secretary; he firmly corrects himself. This man is Alexander’s father, for better or worse, and he cannot keep thinking of himself as such, no matter how he wishes things were different. 

Hoping to end the conversation faster, Washington replies, “I respect that Alexander is your son and therefore you likely know him better than I, however I will have you know that I will not intentionally harm Alexander while he is in my employment.”

Unfortunately, this only seems to spur James Hamilton on. “Mr. President, I know that it isn’t my place to tell you how to treat your employees, but seeing as I am indeed Alex’s father, I hope you will allow me to make my own choices regarding the matter.” 

Washington feels slightly ill. He cannot allow this man to harm Alexander, but at the same time he does not have the power to force him to treat the boy in a different manner. 

In the end, he can just hope that James will get the message. “You are free to make your own choices, but I believe you should act in Alexander’s best interest.” 

James nods. “Thank you for the advice sir. It has been an honor to speak with you.” With those parting words, he turns and exits the room, leaving Washington to his thoughts. 

He quite simply does not know what he should do. The conversation had opened his eyes to the fact that this James Hamilton’s arrival meant nothing good. Washington has only had one encounter with the man and already doesn’t like him. And what does his appearance mean for Alexander? 

Washington is fully aware that the man had harmed Alexander in the past, and that he seems more than willing to do so again. He also knows that no matter what he may have led James to believe, there is no way on this earth that the man will be allowed to hurt Washington’s son- no, Alexander is his secretary. That does not stop him from being rather fond of the boy, perhaps a little more than he should. 

Pausing for a moment, Washington fondly recollects on the day he met Alexander. He had seemed nervous and eager to please, but Washington later discovered that he worked with determination and passion. 

He smiles as he remembers how the boy stayed up long into the night-and still does-, and how his hand flys across the page as he writes nonstop. 

Suddenly he becomes lost in his memories. 

He is walking along the corridor of the building they are using as their temporary headquarters, lost in thoughts of war and food and weaponry. 

Washington passes by a door that is slightly open, a thin bar of flickering candlelight shining from the entrance. Odd, faint sounds emanate from the room as well. 

Frowning, he leans his head around the doorframe. He immediately has to stifle a laugh. 

Alexander Hamilton, his aide-de-camp, is sleeping at his desk, his head laying on his arms atop a stack of paper. Quills, quite a few of them broken, are scattered around him, and ink stains his jacket in splotches. 

No one else works as late as that boy, but even he cannot go forever without succumbing to sleep. He snores softly, his back rising and falling as he breathes. 

Washington moves closer to the desk, smiling softly down at Alexander. Placing a gentle hand on his back, he bends over slightly to whisper in his boy’s ear. 

“Hamilton, wake up, Alexander, come on, wake up.” 

Alexander’s breathing changes, and he shifts a bit. “Hmmm? Iszzit morning alreaaady?” 

Washington smiles, amused. “No, you fell asleep at your desk. You need to get to your bed, son.” 

“Mmmmmm. But it’s so far, ‘nd my work’s all here, ‘nd I gotta get back to work.” 

He straightens sleepily, fumbling for a quill. Scooping one up, he attempts to jab it into the inkwell, misses, and promptly slumps over, asleep again. 

Laughing outright, Washington pulls Alexander to his feet. Wrapping an arm around him, he helps the boy stumble over to the window seat, laying him down on the cushions. 

Hamilton immediately relaxed against the pillows, sleeping peacefully. Washington pauses for a moment, gazing fondly at his aide, before shaking his head gently and walking out of the room with a laugh, shutting the door softly behind him. 

Washington comes out of his memories with a smile. His boy. Alexander may not be his son by birth, but he is still very dear to him, and he vows he will do all that he can to protect Alexander from James Hamilton. 

Ok, the story is now back to the original perspective. 

Alexander arrived back at his office and slumped down into his chair. His father was alone in a room with the person he respected more than anyone else. Even as he was sitting here, James could be ruining his entire career. He dropped his head into his hands and groaned. He could only sit and wait now, and he hated waiting. He’d much rather act, but his hands were tied. 

After what seemed to be an eternity, but in reality was only about fifteen minutes, James burst into his office without so much as a knock on the door. He had a self-satisfied and triumphant smirk on his face. 

“So….I spoke to Washington.” he drawled. “And he did seem quite interested in what I had to tell him.” 

Alexander looked up. “Good for you.” He tried to sound unconcerned, but his voice betrayed a bit of his fear about what his father may have said. 

James’ mouth curled into a cruel smile. “Be prepared for a few, ah, changes in the way things work. I received some wonderful advice from your dear employer, and I intend to follow it to the fullest.” 

What could Washington have told his father? Is Washington mad at him? Did he do something wrong? Oh God, he can’t lose this job, he has to get his financial plan through Congress, there’s still a million things he hasn’t done, please, please let his father not have ruined everything. 

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. He and James walk home earlier than he typically would’ve, but James is insistent on leaving. His father bids him good day and hails a coach. Alexander watches as it clatters away over the cobbled streets. He turns away to climb the stairs into his home, still praying that he’ll still have his job tomorrow.


	5. I'm Here

Alexander is pacing his home. He can’t stop worrying about what his father may have said. He knows he should sleep, but he can’t relax. 

So he spends the night pacing, back and forth until he quite literally collapses into a chair from pure exhaustion. 

When the sun rises the next morning, he bids goodbye to Eliza and the children. They are going upstate to visit his father-in-law, planning to stay about two weeks. Alexander helps them load their luggage onto a coach and waves as it rolls off. 

He’s got to get to work. James has not shown himself, so, hoping things will stay that way, he walks briskly towards his building. 

There is someone waiting on the front steps. Alexander’s pulse quickens, before he sees that it’s only Thomas Jefferson. 

“Hey, Hamilton! Hamilton!” Jefferson is grinning down at him. “I met your father yesterday. So you’re not an orphan after all! Congratulations.” 

“Unfortunately,” Alex responds. 

“Ahh, why so unhappy? He seems like quite a nice man. Obviously you don’t get your charming personality from him.” 

Ignoring Thomas’s taunts, Alexander pushes on. “He’s nice until you live with him, and then all you want is to never see him again.” They have reached his office, so he steps inside and promptly shuts the door to keep Jefferson from entering. 

“Oh you’ve finally made it. Good morning.” a voice drawls lazily from behind him. Alexander jumps and spins around. James is sitting behind his desk, his feet propped up on the desktop, Alex’s neat stacks of paper in disarray. 

“Get off and get OUT!” He shouts at James. He can’t take any more of his father’s insolence. He can’t allow him to take his life apart when things finally appeared to be looking up. 

James rises from the desk and walks over to Alex, smirking. “No, I think I’ll stay right here. And since when are you the one who gives orders? You listen to me, not the other way around.” He punctuates the sentence with a sharp slap on his son’s cheek. 

The blow sends Alexander staggering backwards. He places a hand on his face. Something warm touches his fingers. They are smeared with red. James’s nails must have drawn blood. 

His thoughts are just a jumble of fears and feelings that he thought he’d finally left behind for good. But the pain in his cheek and the blood on his fingertips are sending him blasts of emotions he’d thought were long gone. 

No, no, no, please, what has he done this time? What did he do to deserve this? Oh, God, please, someone, anyone, tell him what it is, what he’s done, please someone come and help him, get him out, please, please, anyone, help. 

It hurts, it hurts so much, and he’s vaguely aware of more blows landing on his body, but he’s trapped inside his head, panicking, trying to escape but it’s the same walls that kept him trapped every time, there is no way to get out of here, please, someone, anyone, walk in the door, help him, please. 

He’d settle for Jefferson right now, or Madison, or even Burr. Just someone to come and stop the pain, stop the tide of fear that’s risen in him, to help him. A faint voice in his mind is telling him that it’s all just a panic attack, it’s all a figment of his imagination, but the pain in his cheek is real and he just can’t get a grip on his emotions. 

Alexander is harshly brought back to reality by someone slamming his office door. Shaking his head to clear it, he gazes around the room, taking deep breaths. 

He’s the only one there, James must have slammed the door on his way out. Trying to focus, he falls into his chair and rubs his forehead. It’s been many years since he had a panic attack. Usually he can control them, but he never thought he’d have to go through his father’s abuse again. 

Alex picks up his quill. It doesn’t matter. He can survive a hurricane, a war, and the illness that killed his mother. He can get through a visit from his father. 

 

James walked out of the building and into the bright New York sunshine, chuckling to himself. His son was always the fiery little fighter, until someone stronger came along and put him back into his proper place. Alex’s panic attacks were a nice reminder of who was really in control here, and to be honest, the boy needed that reminder every once in a while. 

Strolling down the street, he reflects back on his conversation with the President the day before. He’d tried to explain to Washington that it was necessary to keep the boy subdued, and that it really wouldn’t make a difference in the way Alexander worked and acted. If anything, it would be an improvement. At least Alex’s mouth would be shut and then the man would be able to find some peace of mind. 

But the President just didn’t seem to understand. Washington had told him that he wouldn’t ever harm Alexander. James didn’t hurt him per say, he just taught him a lesson. A lesson that the boy obviously needed to re-learn. 

Well, if Washington wouldn’t do it, he would. It was time he took matters into his own hands. James headed back towards Alexander’s home, prepared to wait until the boy got back from work for a little proper discipline. 

 

Alexander stayed at the office that day until past midnight. When he finally did put down his pen, he yawned, stretched, and blew out his candle. 

No one else was walking the streets this late at night. He took his time, strolling down the dark roads, his shoes clicking against the cobbles. 

Strangely enough, his house had a light on in it. Had his family come back already? But no, they wouldn’t have had the time would they? Had someone been hurt? He hurried up the stairs and burst into the foyer, looking around for someone to tell him what was happening. 

Rough, strong hands grab him and slam him into the wall. Gasping for breath, Alexander gazes back at James Hamilton. The other man snarls and rams his knee into Alex’s hip. 

“I didn’t get the chance to teach you a proper lesson earlier today. I’m going to make sure you don’t forget it this time around.” 

Alexander tries to twist out of James’s grip, but he holds fast and one hand moves to grasp his throat, cutting off his air supply. He chokes, still twisting madly. 

Only when it looks like Alexander may be in danger of losing consciousness does James release his hold on his son’s throat. As Alex desperately sucks in air, he deals a firm blow to the boy’s gut. 

Falling to the floor, once again having his air supply disappear, Alexander coughs and wheezes, trying to catch his breath. 

James leans over him. “Now, have you learned your lesson once and for all or should I reinforce it a little more?” 

His son glares up at him, and manages to get a few words out. 

“Respect is…..earned, an’ you…..haven’t earned it.” 

This only earns a roar of fury from James, and he strikes Alexander several times on his ribs. Alex whimpers-he will have bruises by morning. 

James mutters in his ear, punctuating each word with a sharp punch to Alexander’s side. 

“Show……me……...respect. You…...worthless…...bastard. Can’t….. you…...even…..make….yourself….. useful?” 

A wretched sob bursts out of Alexander, wrenched out of him by the pain and his fear. James chuckles softly. 

“You’re only tough until someone reminds you of your proper place. It was true then, and it’s still true now.” 

Dealing a final strike to the side of Alexander’s head, James walks out of his house, shaking his head and smiling softly. 

Alexander is left alone, slumped against the wall, his breathing ragged. Slowly, he struggles to his feet, wincing at the pain in his ribs. He staggers up the steps, and enters his room. Gazing at himself in the mirror, he sees a collar of bruises that have already formed around his neck. Collapsing on his bed with a sob, he stares at the ceiling until he falls asleep. 

The next morning dawns bright and clear. Alexander groggily rises to his feet and searched for a change of clothes. His others are rumpled after a night of sleep. He catches sight of his reflection as he walks past the mirror. 

His ribs are covered in purple bruises. There’s even one on his hip where James rammed it with his knee. His throat has a hand shaped mark that wraps all the way around. Placing a hand on his side, he winces at the sudden burst of pain. No matter. He has to get to work today. 

But first he has to make sure nobody can see his bruise. 

So he ties a cloth around his neck and covers it with a cravat, hoping it won’t attract too much attention. 

The day is warm and sunny, and it would be cheerful if his ribs weren’t throbbing and his head wasn’t reeling. 

The cool, dim building is a welcome retreat from the crowds on the streets. No sounds are coming from its empty halls, everyone must be deep in their work. Then, with a start, he realizes that it is Sunday, and most people are likely at home, enjoying a day of relaxation. 

But Alexander knows that there will be at least one person here, one person who he can count on. 

Alexander walks the halls until he arrives at Washington’s office, raising his fist to knock hesitantly on the door. To his surprise, it swings open. It must have not been closed all the way. 

George Washington is sitting at his desk, and he looks up when the door opens, surprised that anyone else would be at work, no doubt. 

Silhouetted in the doorway, Alexander quickly apologizes. “My apologies, Your Excellency, sir, I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” 

“No, Hamilton come in, sit down, I was wondering if you’d be here today. I’d like to speak with you.” 

Now he really is nervous. He approaches the desk and sits in a chair before the President, fidgeting anxiously, not realizing that his slight movements are causing the cloth around his throat to shift slightly. 

“Am I in trouble, sir?” He mentally curses himself for his quiet, tremulous voice. 

Washington is taken aback for a moment, but he just gives a small smile and shakes his head. “No, you’re not. I just wanted to ask if you’re alright. You’ve seemed rather fidgety and anxious for the past few days. It’s not like you to be frightened. Is something going on?” 

Alexander cannot meet the older man’s gaze. He has hit dangerously close to home. Had his nerves really been so obvious? Briefly he considered telling Washington everything, but decided against it. No, he could handle this on his own. 

“No, sir, everything’s fine.” 

 

Washington narrows his eyes. Everything is not fine, he can see it in the way his boy refuses to look at him. However, pressuring Alexander to tell him will get nowhere. 

So he lets the matter slide- for the time being. Instead, he switches the topic of their conversation to politics. 

Hamilton begins to speak rapidly and enthusiastically, accompanied by much hand waving. It is during one particularly passionate hand gesture that the kerchief wrapped around the boy’s neck slides down, revealing a purple mark. 

The President stops speaking abruptly and gazes in shock at the mark. Alexander hasn’t noticed yet, and looks back at him, confused. 

“Your Excellency, is something wrong, sir?” 

Washington feels sick. Someone has attempted to strangle his boy- and he has a very good idea of who it may have been. 

“Hamilton, answer a question for me.” 

Alexander swallows hard. “Yes, sir?” 

“I’d like to know, if as you say everything is fine, then why do you have a bruise around your throat?” 

The reaction is instantaneous. Alexander rises to his feet, stumbling backwards while attempting to retie the cloth around his neck. 

“Really, sir, it’s nothing, I- I just…” He trails off and reaches behind himself desperately, groping for the doorknob. 

Washington is on his feet. He strides across the office and grabs Alexander by the shoulder, leading him back to the chair. Hooking a finger under the fabric, he tugs it down so that the bruise on Alex’s neck is once more visible. 

He sits back down and reaches across the desk, gently tilting Alexander’s chin up so he can look the boy in the eye. “Alexander come now, it’s alright. Just tell me what happened.” 

Alexander shys away from Washington. “Sir, it was an accident, I -I fell, sir, and- and….” He can’t continue. 

Sighing, Washington stands up once more and walks around the desk. Hamilton is obviously lying, but he must have a good reason. “Alex, people don’t get marks in the shape of a hand on their necks from a fall. Was it your father?” 

Alexander flinches. He gazes up at Washington with wide, terror-filled eyes. Suddenly he sprints for the opposite side of the room, but instead of grabbing the door he slams into the wall and sinks to the floor, huddling down and curling into a tight ball. 

“No, no, nonono, please you can’t tell him, please it’ll only make it worse, sir, please don’t tell him.” Alex rocks back and forth, whimpering. 

Washington sits down next to his boy, carefully wrapping a gentle arm around him. He can feel Alexander’s body trembling as he continues to plead for Washington to not tell James. His heart breaks right then and there, his poor Alexander shouldn’t be so upset, so scared. 

“Shh, son, it’s going to be fine, you’re going to be fine, don’t be scared. I’ve got you.” 

But it’s as if Alex can’t hear him. He looks to be a million miles away, and tears are rolling slowly down his face. Washington holds him tighter, pulling him to his chest and running a hand through the boy’s hair, trying to soothe him. 

“He can’t hurt you, son, not here, not now. Deep breaths, Alexander, it’s going to be alright.” 

Alexander’s ragged, frantic breathing slows as he breathes in and out slowly. He presses closer to Washington, who strokes his back reassuringly. It won’t be too hard to track down James Hamilton. No one can hurt someone he cares about and get away with it.


	6. Who Loves You

Seconds pass, blending into minutes, turning into hours. It takes a while for Alexander to calm down, but he manages it, still safe in Washington’s comforting embrace. Only when he’s sure that he’s gotten a firmer grip on his emotions does he meet the President’s eyes. 

Washington smiles down at Alexander, lightly brushing a strand of hair out of his eyes. Alex is able to muster a faint smile in return, before the shock of what happened kicks in. Washington saw the mark on his throat. Somehow, he knew James had done it. Well, there weren’t many options were there? Who else would’ve tried to strangle him. Third, he’d started panicking, and Washington hadn’t been angry? He had sat with him, reassured him that everything would be alright, and held him like Alexander was his own son. 

He hangs his head, ashamed to meet the man’s gaze after this, as his father once put it, “wretched display of pathetic weakness.” A hand lifts his head up. Alexander looks back at Washington, who has nothing but concern and pure affection in his expression. 

“Son-” Washington begins, but Alexander cuts him off, not even realizing that the man had started to speak. 

“Are you angry with me?” Alexander questions. Thinking that this may sound too challenging, he adds, “I would be angry with myself, too. I- I’m sorry, sir, Your Excellency.” He stares at the floor. 

Taken aback for a moment, Washington can only look at Alex. Then, he abruptly shifts Alexander so he’s facing him, before grabbing his shoulders and saying seriously: “No. Stop. You have nothing to be sorry for, absolutely nothing. And I’m not angry. Not with you. If I’m angry with anyone right now, it’s your father. Understand?” 

Alexander nods his head slowly, still rather uncertain. He glances at the clock. It’s a quarter past seven. 

Washington follows his gaze, and also takes note of the time. Rising to his feet, and pulling Alexander with him, he steers the boy towards the door. “Come on. I’m walking you home tonight.” 

Emitting murmured protests, but not putting up much of a fight, Alexander allows himself to be led out of the building and into the cool night air. 

It was awkward, really, having your employer walk with you to your house. Even more so when they keep shooting concerned looks your way. 

Alexander kicked a stone, and it clattered away into the darkness. Washington glanced over at him, worry creasing his face. The man kept looking into the shadows as if he expected something to jump out at them. 

Though Alex didn’t know it, Washington was hoping to find James at Alexander’s house. New York was a large city, and honestly James could be anywhere. The sooner the man was tracked down, the better, as far as Washington was concerned. 

But when they arrived at Alexander’s home, it was dark. The house was empty, the only noise being the slight creak of the door hinges as they swung open. Breathing a slight sigh of relief, Alex bounced on his toes. Sanctuary. He turned to bid the President goodnight, but as soon as he did he was enveloped in a tight hug. Washington gazes down at him. “Remember to lock your door. I’ll see you tomorrow, son.” Alexander nods, shocked by the sudden display of affection, and Washington briskly walks back out into the night. 

Alexander does as he is told. The door is secure, the house is quiet, and all is well. Little did he know how quickly that would all change. 

 

He drains the tankard before slamming it onto the bar. The bartender looks up, pausing in his wiping out of the glasses, and gazes back at him sympathetically. “Rough day?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Ah. So who did what?” 

James’s eyes flicker up to meet the other’s in surprise. The bartender grins back. “I’ve worked here for a long time. I can tell someone’s pissed you off.” 

James allows a slight smile. “Huh. Learning people skills in a bar. That’s a new one. To answer your question, I’m having issues with my son.” 

The other man nods sagely. “I see. So is it just a petty argument or something more?” 

“Well, it’s a bit more. I haven’t seen him for a long time, so I decide to visit. And when I see him, he acts like I’ve done something horrible to him. And then he starts disrespecting me, so of course I’ve got to do something about that. Finally I got it through his thick head, but he’ll probably have forgotten by tomorrow and I’ll have to teach him all over again.” 

The bartender rests his chin on his hand. “You know, I was always told that the best reward for disrespect is a good dose of pain.” 

James sighs. “Been there, done that. I’ll bet he had some bruises today.” 

“Well, try harder. In my family, disrespect was always treated with a good hard blow from a poker, and maybe a broken bone or two. No one forgets that sort of thing very quickly.” 

He ponders this for a moment. It’ll likely work, but breaking bones is out of the question. He wants the boy to be able to go off to work each day, and that sort of thing will likely not go unnoticed. Especially from Washington. James is not blind, he can see that the President appears to be more fond of his son than he’d expect from just an employer. 

Well, Washington admitted himself that James had the right to make his own choices, and he’d also urged him to make choices that would benefit Alexander. This certainly would. The boy would cease to be so obnoxious if he could just learn to keep his mouth shut. Tomorrow he’d pay a visit to Alexander at his home, or, if he wasn’t there, he’d just go on over to the offices where he worked. He’d finally be able to resolve the issue of the boy’s disrespect once and for all. 

 

The silence of the house was welcoming. No one bursted out at him from the shadows, and he was free to nurse his bruises in peace. Alexander sat on his bed, staring out the window at the garden. It was so calm, lit by shafts of moonlight. 

His mind wandered back to the subject of Washington. The man was truly a mystery to him. Did Washington really care for him or was he just being kind? Part of Alexander scolded himself for wanting the former to be true. No, no, no. Washington was only trying to help him, just because he is a kind and honorable man, nothing else. 

But he’d called Alex “son”, as if the appearance of James had made no difference, as if Alexander wasn’t James’s son at all, but his. He’d comforted him, and he had walked home with him to make sure he would be alright. Surely that could be a little more than just kindness, right? 

Alexander rolled over and buried his face in the pillows, lost in thought, and eventually drifted off to sleep. 

When he woke, the sky was a heavy gray, and low rumble of thunder echoed across the city. There would likely be a storm. 

Rolling his collar up to shield against the wind, Alexander shivered. He’d never liked storms, not since the hurricane, and it would not do for him to show up at work sopping wet, so he walked faster. 

Even so, by the time he ducked into the offices, a light rain was already beginning to fall. It was gloomy inside, the loss of natural light replaced by stuttering candles. 

No sooner had Alex shut the door to his own office than the real rain came. A torrential downpour thundered outside, drowning out all other sounds. Well, it was better than hearing Jefferson’s voice. Settling into his chair, Alexander picked up his quill and wrote like there was no tomorrow. 

As the day progresses, the storm gets wilder and louder, until he could have played an organ and no one would have heard a single note. (Sorry, can’t write good analogies) When his clock strikes three, an unexpected and much unwanted visitor strolls in the room. 

James is grinning, smug and cruel, and he carries in one hand a long, slender bundle wrapped in rough cloth. “Good afternoon, son. Hard at work, are we?” 

He looks slightly hungover, and there’s a rather vengeful light in his eyes. He’s running a thumb over the bundle in his hand, evidently itching to unwrap it. 

Alexander gives James a scornful glance. “Yes. And if you had any decency, you’d be too.” 

His contemptuous words are met only with a roar of fury. James surges forward, and his cloth wrapped bundle falls to the floor. It hits the wood with a thump and a clatter, revealing what James has brought with him. An iron poker, long, heavy, and adorned with curled spikes, like talons. 

Alex has no time to comprehend the appearance of the weapon before James has grabbed him by the collar, and yanking him up. His voice is just an angry hiss. “You’ve already forgotten your lessons, fortunately, someone was able to give me some wonderful advice last night, this’ll teach you.” 

Briefly releasing Alexander, James scoops the poker off the ground and stalks back over to him. Before he can say anything, James is swinging his weapon, and it catches him on the leg. 

The force of the blow nearly knocks him over. Another one lands on the opposite leg, and he barely stifles a whimper of pain. Another blow falls. This time James strikes him in the ribs, and a shriek bursts out of Alexander. 

Blows continue to land on Alex, catching him in the legs, his ribs, his hips, until his body aches. 

Eyes wild with anger, James adjusts his grip so he’s holding the poker like a spear. Jabbing downwards, the most prominent point cuts open Alexander’s breeches at the calf, leaving a bloody streak in its wake. The cut is deep and wide, and he can’t hold back his scream. No one hears. The storm drowns out all sound. 

He feels as though he may lose consciousness. From pain, from fear, and, if he doesn’t get that wound bound soon, from blood loss. 

And then…..the door opens, and someone is striding towards them, pulling James off and then they are gently helping him lean against the wall, wrapping a piece of fabric around his leg to stem the bleeding. Finally, from pain, fear, and pure shock, Alexander passes out. 

 

The storm was incredible. Incredibly loud. He couldn’t concentrate, so he decided to walk around and check on his employees. 

Pausing for a while to speak with Thomas Jefferson and James Madison, he proceeded down the hall to Alexander’s office. 

A knock on the door prompted no response. It was slightly concerning, but the storm was so loud maybe he just didn’t hear. 

Washington opened the door. James Hamilton is gripping a poker, and as he watches uses it to slash a deep cut on Alex’s leg. 

Surging forward, he drags the man off of Alexander, and eases his boy into a sitting position against the wall, using a nearby piece of cloth to bind the wound on his leg, but not fast enough. Alexander’s eyes roll back in his head, and Washington panics for a moment. A quick check reveals that his boy is just unconscious. 

Satisfied that Alexander is in no imminent danger, he turns back to James, his rage mounting. “What is the meaning of this? How could you attack him like that?” 

James leans haughtily against the poker, using it like a cane. “Mr. President, I was only trying to discipline my son. I believe you told me that, being his father, I know him better than you do, and that I should act in his best interest. Well, that’s what I’m doing. If he learns to keep his mouth shut, he’ll get in less trouble. And as an added bonus, he’ll also annoy you less.” 

Washington makes a furious noise in his throat. “Alexander does not annoy me. And I am questioning that you know him at all. I think I am correct in saying that it has been many years since you saw him last, and people change.”

James snorts. “Ha. Alexander still can’t shut up, and he still has no respect for authority. Please consider that I am only trying to improve his character.” 

Raising an eyebrow, Washington responds, “Oh? I’ve not had any problems with him. Well, the whole ‘don’t call me son’ fiasco, but he’s not about to tell James that. Perhaps Alexander’s definition of authority doesn’t include people who show up out of nowhere and start beating him for not showing respect they don’t deserve.” 

The other man’s eye twitches. Washington watches, knowing that James will not dare to attack him, even though he’d clearly like to. 

It doesn’t matter. Washington has more pressing matters to attend to. He has to take care of his son. Ignoring James, he turns back to Alexander. To his surprise, the boy’s eyelids are fluttering. He blinks, once, twice, and then lets his head fall against his chest with a moan. 

“It hurts…..why does everything hurt?” Alexander looks up at the two men standing over him. Then his gaze settles on James and his brow furrowed. “Oh. I remember now.” 

Washington leans down and helps Alexander to his feet. At one point his leg gives way and when he does manage to stand, he’s clutching the President’s arm for support. 

He hisses at James, “Leave him be. You’ve hurt him enough for one lifetime.” 

James glares back at Washington, before turning to Alexander with a smirk on his face. “I suppose I won’t be seeing you again. You’re still my son, however, so if you want to….” He leaves the question unfinished. 

Alexander won’t meet either of their eyes. He mutters something under his breath. James’s smile widens. “What was that?” 

“....your son.” 

James looks victorious. “That’s right. Now, come along.” 

“No. Not your son.” Alexander retorts sharply. 

Now furious, James snarls, “Blood is blood, and nothing you can do will change that. Face it. I’m the only family you’ve got left.” 

“I’ve got Eliza, and my children, and…” he trails off. 

“He’s got me.” Washington says firmly. He tightens his grip on Alex’s shoulder, reinforcing his statement. Alexander glances up at him in shock. 

James makes a harsh disbelieving noise. “What would you want with a useless bastard who talks incessantly and lacks self control?” 

 

The first thing he’s aware of when he regains consciousness is the pain. His whole body aches. James is quite formidable with that poker. 

Standing by Washington’s side, Alexander listens to the older man berate James for the abuse. Then James addresses him, asking if he would ever see him again. No. Never. Not ever again. 

Of course James is angry when he refuses. But what if he was right? What if James really was the only family Alexander had left? But then……

“He’s got me.” 

A surge of emotions overtakes him. 

Yes yes yes...wait, no, this isn’t right, he can’t mean it, no, no he doesn’t mean it. But maybe he does…. 

Washington grips his shoulder firmly. 

Yes he does mean it, he won’t be like James, he is good and honorable and he cares, and he won’t be like James. Father isn’t like James. 

Father……. 

But of course, James has to go and ruin it all. “What would you want with a useless bastard who talks incessantly and lacks self control?” 

It’s a valid question. Out of all of the people he works with, why would Washington favor the one with the unfortunate past and the problem with authority? Alex doesn’t want to hear the answer. He hangs his head, waiting for Washington to realize that he is making a mistake. 

Washington takes a minute to respond. He appears to be mulling over his answer. James is beginning to smirk again, and Alexander feels something akin to despair building in his chest. When the man finally answers, his voice is firm and confident. 

“Alexander isn’t useless. He’s quite intelligent and if you’d give him a chance, I’m sure that he would impress you. I want him to be happy, and evidently your presence is not helping. So you need to leave.” 

The room is silent for a count of three, then James spins around and stalks out of the room. Alexander is left alone with Washington, and suddenly his leg gives out. The President catches him, shifting him so that he is supporting the majority of Alex’s weight. Outside, the storm has stopped. 

Leading Alexander back to his desk, Washington helps him settle into his chair, before telling him, “Wait here. There’s something I need to attend to.” 

So Alexander waits patiently, as the minutes tick by, and he starts to wonder if maybe Washington did realize he made a mistake. 

He tries to stand up, but his injured leg just can’t support his weight and he collapses back down. Not to be deterred, he grips the desk firmly and uses it as leverage to push himself upright. 

It works long enough for him to grab the poker, which James had cast aside before he left. Leaning on it heavily, he limps slowly towards the door. Before he can reach it, it opens. 

Washington is back, bearing in his arms a roll of cloth bandages and a pitcher of water. He stops, seeing Alexander halfway across the room. “What are you doing, son? Sit down, before you hurt yourself even more.” 

Alexander complies, sitting down and carefully removing the makeshift wrap covering his wound. Washington gives him a damp cloth, watching as he dabs gently at the gash, cleaning away the dried blood surrounding it. When Alexander is finished, the older man winds a bandage around the boy’s leg, securing it firmly in place. 

“He’s wrong, Alexander.” 

Startled, Alex glances up at Washington, who looks back at him, dead serious. “You know that, don’t you?” 

Not sure what else to say, Alexander merely responds, “Yes sir.” 

Washington smiles softly in response. “Good.” Reaching out, he ruffles Alex’s hair, prompting a quiet laugh and a grin from Alexander. 

“Son, how about you come home with me for tonight? There’s room for you, and frankly, I don’t think you should try to walk home, not with that leg of yours.” 

He’s shocked. How to respond? Washington’s invited him to come stay with him, for a night. But the President is correct. It would be unwise for him to try and walk home. So there’s really only one thing for him to say. 

“Thank you, Your Excellency.” 

Washington has a coach waiting outside the building. It’s not a long drive to the President’s lodgings at 3 Cherry Street. The carriage smoothly rolls to a stop outside the handsome building, and Washington opens the door to the house, ushering Alexander inside. 

Though he can’t make out much, it appears to be a fine house, beautifully decorated. Leading him into a small room, Washington tells Alex, “Wait here for a moment, son. Feel free to read whatever you’d like.” 

Gazing around in wonder, Alexander realizes that the room is a library, illuminated by a fire in the grate. He picks up a book from the stack on a small table, and sits upon a couch, flipping open the book. 

Washington returns to find Alexander deeply absorbed in a book. Chuckling under his breath, he picks up a book for himself and settles onto the couch beside Alexander. A warm feeling spreads through him when his boy leans against him, curling into his side. 

The sun rises the next morning to find two people asleep on a couch in a small library, books still open in their hands. Alexander’s head is resting against Washington’s chest, and the President’s arm is wrapped around Alexander’s shoulders. Father and son sleep on, blissfully unaware of time passing around them, content to spend the morning in this room, happy and at ease. 

Because no matter what they tell you, family doesn’t have to be connected by blood. Family is who you love, and who loves you. 

So raise a glass to family, to something they can never take away, and no matter what they tell you, it’s something that you can create for yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed my fic! Leave a kudos or a comment please. Feedback is welcome and appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this! This was actually the very first fic I wrote for Hamilton.


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